


Voices

by CompletelyDifferent



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Kind of meta, M/M, Post Company Picnic, Typical Night Vale Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 13:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CompletelyDifferent/pseuds/CompletelyDifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening after the Strexcorp Company Picnic, Kevin wants nothing more to settle into his new home for a good night’s sleep. Some folks have something to say about that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voices

Kevin loved coming home after a long day of work.

It was by no means his favourite part of the day, of course. That was when he was in his booth, microphone in hand, ready to get down to business and share the news with all who would listen. Nonetheless, there was something so fulfilling about returning home after a long, productive day.

Home. Home was such an odd thing, really. What turned a place, a house, into a home? Possessions? Time? Memories? Kevin wasn't sure. He’d only just moved into this particular apartment about two weeks ago, and it had taken a while for it to grow on him. Atfirst this new one had seemed so strange and unfamiliar, and he couldn't _help_ but miss his old place in Desert Bluffs, which was warm and neat and above all else, _his_.

The previous tenants had clearly left in a rush, since the place was in a real _mess_. They hadn't even bothered to take out all their personal possessions! They'd just left it all there for someone else to clean up, which was, in Kevin's opinion, just plain _rude_. There were plenty of lovely things, of course, like a beautiful collection of jadeite bowls, but there was also so much clutter. There were beakers strewn over counters and the kitchen table, and cheesy bowling trophies on the mantle, and even a circle of illicit blood-stone! Not to mention the cat hair. It was everywhere! Thankfully, he'd been able to deal with the cat itself, and found some Claritin in the bathroom to hold him over until he had found the chance to thoroughly vacuum. He had just wished he could have moved into a neater place.

Of course, a whole bunch of new houses had just come onto the market, what with the entire town deciding they'd much prefer to take up permanent residence at the company picnic, and Kevin could have easily transferred into one of them. However, he felt he might stay. He’d been making great strides in all the tidying up- for example, he'd just gotten the last of the lab coats packed away yesterday- and it seemed like a real waste to leave now. Besides, the apartment was growing on him. At some point during all the tidying up and settling in, it really had begun to feel like a home.

So Kevin came home, and enacted his evening routine. First he cooked himself a tasty, nutritious supper. Then it was time for a shower- as much as he adored the new studio decorations, they _were_ a bit messy, and there was nothing like a shower to really _refresh_ a person. Next came pajamas, and teeth brushing, and finally time for a good night's rest.

He snuggled under the covers of the bed, snug as anything. It was a king-sized bed, really designed for two, but this just gave him an extra bit of comfort as he flicked off the light and said his Strex Sponsored Bedtime Prayer to the Smiling God: “Look around you. Look inside you. Go to sleep.”And then he closed his eyes.

That's when the voices began.

At first they were nearly imperceptible, just a low murmuring on the edge of his hearing. It shouldn't have been bothersome at all, being no louder than the hum of the air-conditioner or the pitter-patter of blood rain on the roof. For some reason, however, Kevin found it endlessly distracting- _annoying,_ even.

"Old Woman?" he asked. The mayoral candidate which lived in everyone's homes really was such a wonderful lady, but some of her habits could be quite bothersome.

She didn’t answer. That was odd. When she was there (or rather, when she chose to make her presence known) she was usually so polite. The lack of response, and the fact he saw no fleeting movement out of the corner of his eye, felt no quiet prickle on his skin, suggested that she wasn’t there at all.

The voices, however, continued. Slowly, they began to grow louder.

Kevin strained to listen, to make them out. How many were there? He wasn’t sure. They weren't speaking in unison, and there seemed to be little in common about them- some sounded male, some sounded female, some neither. Some were old, some young, some light, some gravelly…

…they sounded agitated. Or perhaps annoyed. Or possibly afraid.

Or maybe _angry_.

They were getting louder now. Not just louder, however- there were more of them, more of them every minute. There were so many- so many- and it didn't matter that they were just voices, that they had no bodies, there were there all the same, loud and inescapable. Kevin grabbed the pillow, folded it around his head, trying to block out the noise. It didn't work. These were not sounds, not in the conventional sense. They were not caused by the vibration of air molecules; they bypassed the ears entirely, going directly to the brain, impossible to ignore or silence.

"Hello!" Kevin said, cheerfully, when the pillow tactic failed. Maybe the voices were just a little grumpy, and needed someone friendly to reach out to them. "My name's Kevin. Who are you?"

The voices **_roared_**.

For a moment, Kevin could do nothing but lie there, overwhelmed by the maelstrom of sound, thunderous and wild and no more comprehensible then the crash of waves during a typhoon or the rumble of a rock-slide. And then, slowly, meaning began to form, words coalescing out of the cacophony.

_"Where is Cecil?'"_

All the voices said it; some quietly, some loudly, some with tears and others with anger. There were other things, too, just fragments, snippets, quickly swept away in the rush of voices- Kevin could barely catch them at all;

_"- you monster, you sicko-"_

_"- you're going to pay, just you see-"_

_"- Dana's got an army, an_ army _-"_

_"- hahahaha, nope, NOPE-"_

_"-perfect, clever Carlos, he'll come, you can't stop science-"_

But always, again and again, over and over the same words, echoing through his head, the same three words;

_"Where is Cecil?"_

_"Where. Is. Cecil?"_

_"Where. Is. CECIL?''_

Cecil had been there. He had reached out into the void. He had been the Voice of Night Vale. His words had soothed, had comforted, had calmed- had _connected_ , even across the worlds, the dimensions. He had spoken, and they had listened.

Now Cecil was gone. They couldn't bring him back. But they could speak for him.

And they would _not_ let Kevin sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been meaning to write some Night Vale fanfic for months now, but between computer crashes and my own inability to keep focused on one idea, I haven’t had much success. After the newest episode, however, I thought I might help our fandom have a little modicum of revenge on Cecil’s behalf. Not sure how successful that was, but I found it cathartic, at least.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Voices](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464782) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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